"He took some time off. He's not on duty."
"Oh, bullshit, Rhyme. Vacation? I'm running a murder."
"You were at the mall, Sachs. You saw what happened. My victim's as dead as yours." Lincoln Rhyme didn't play defense well.
"The difference is your escalator's not going to kill anyone else."
No response to that.
"Well, I don't think I'll need him for much longer."
"How much is that? In terms of hours? Minutes preferably."
He sighed. "We have to come up with a defendant in the next day or so."
"So, days then," she muttered. "Not hours."
Minutes were off the table.
He tried conciliation, though it dripped insincerity. "I'll make a call or two. Who're you working with at Crime Scene?"
"Who I'm working with is not Mel. That's the problem."
"Look, I--" This was from Mel Cooper, who had surely deduced what was happening.
"It's okay," Rhyme said to him.
No, it wasn't. She fumed silently. Professional and personal partners for years, they never fought about matters close to the heart. But when it came to cases, tempers could flare.
"I'm sure you can run some questions by him. He's nodding. See. He's happy to do that."
"I can't run questions by him. He's not a clerk at Pep Boys." She added, "On speaker."
There was a click.
Cooper was saying, "Amelia--"
"Okay, Mel. Listen. Ron will give you the details. I need some napkins analyzed for friction ridges and DNA. And we need the brand name of some varnish. And the type of wood from sawdust samples." She added firmly, for Rhyme's sake, not Cooper's, "I need somebody really good. As good as you."
The last was a bit petty, sure. She didn't care one iota.
"I'll make a call, Amelia."
"Thanks. Ron will send you the case number."
"Sure, of course."
Then Sachs heard a woman's low voice: "Is there anything I can do?"
Rhyme was saying, "No, keep going with that analysis."
Who was that? Sachs wondered.
Then he said, "Sachs, look--"
"I have to go, Rhyme."
She disconnected. Reflecting that it had been years since she'd hung up on him. She remembered when. During their first case.